


All My Potions are for Naught

by zephyrprince



Series: Lore of the Lands [1]
Category: Lands of Lore
Genre: Canon - TV, Character Study, Dendrophilia, English language, Kink, Other, US Source
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrprince/pseuds/zephyrprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one in Gladstone knew quite what to make of Nathaniel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Potions are for Naught

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is taken from a line in Lands of Lore: The Throne of Chaos by Rick Gush, episode one of the trilogy.

No one in Gladstone knew quite what to make of Nathaniel. When Dawn brought him on as the royal herbalist, it was evident that his magic ability was considerable and it soon became clear that his knowledge of plants was unparalleled. Still, there was something about the nervous little man that made others uneasy.

Mostly people assumed he enjoyed the company of other men, that is, if he enjoyed the company of anyone. But that wasn't a problem really. With Geron in the position of royal chancellor, what little of the old taboos that had survived were now all but gone.

It also wasn't really his jitteriness, although, truth be told, this got on everyone's nerves now and again. Literally anything might set him off – a thunderclap, a slamming door, the cry of a crow. Further, he seemed not to like people very much – no one really including Dawn, whom he seemed to relate to best. Being around humans just didn't suit him. People were complicated; he was always second guessing his interpretations of their actions. He'd miss vital cues, and then fumble with his robes and make some excuse to get away.

No, what really made people look askance at him was not just that he didn't like people, but, by comparison, how much he seemed to like plants.

The only time anyone saw him light up with enthusiasm was when conversation turned to herbology. He would suddenly seem to come alive, flitting about the room talking to the plants in his laboratory about this or that problem they might address. Everyone assumed his speaking to the plants was just a way of talking to himself. When he touched them, though, and his eyes glinted, pausing for a second to really feel the texture…. People just didn't know what to make of it, but a moment later they had all but convinced themselves it was all in their heads. And that was probably for the best.

It was similar when the palace guards would accompany him on trips into the forest or the nearby caves to gather fungi and other plants to make salves. Out in the natural realm, he seemed far more at peace. When he found a certain specimen, he would caress it or occasionally hold it in his arms and weep quietly before exhaling in a slow, deep satisfaction. The guards would look away awkwardly, but, ultimately, as long as everyone in Gladstone was kept in good health, they could stand the discomfort.

If the people of Gladstone ever voiced that they sensed a deep love between Nathaniel and his plants, he would be the first to tell them they were right. What he might not divulge, however, was the breadth and depth of the manifestations of his passion.

In all his life, Nathaniel had never been aroused by a human body of any sex. He preferred his palm fronds and ferns, aloe plants and sage.

In the evenings his routine was always the same. First, he cleaned up his work from the day. He organized his herbs, putting each in its place, meticulously categorized and labeled. Then he'd move quietly up the stairs in his lab to the small nook where he slept, surrounded by potted plants. There he'd remove his robe and take out a vial of palm oils, massaging it into the skin across his body. He'd cover his feet, kneading the pain and aches out of his tired body after a long day of work.

Starting to relax, Nathaniel would pluck a single frond from his most beloved fern and stretch his arm out so that it began to caress his ankle. No matter how many times he did this, he gasped and shuddered when it first touched the skin of his lower extremities. He pulled it up, tickling the fatty tissue of his calves and up to his thighs.

Just before he reached his genitals, he'd stop and rummage through his personal potions, resting his hand on one of many to enhance virility. He snorted powdered lichens or gulped down diced pineapple from the south, taking the moment of pause to nuzzle gently against the small trees that grew up to his small slatted windows. The bark against his face made him sweat and he stuck out his tongue to lap at the dry bark.

Nathaniel's own wood grew strong so that when he returned to the fern leaf, he was ready. He touched himself just under his scrotum, and breathed deeply as he wrapped the plant around his hardness. Feeling its lush texture against him, the veins of the bush would press into the veins of his penis, and he'd stroke himself up and down, pulling his foreskin open and back.

On nights of particular intensity, he'd select a vegetable from the basket downstairs and wash it in a basin of pure water. Bending over a shrub or a pile of cut branches, he'd lick the tip of the carrot or squash, spreading his saliva over its oblong shape for lubrication. Spreading his legs, he'd reach back and tickle his hole with the end. Then slowly, he'd open himself up and push the vegetable deep inside. He washed his organic lovers to keep dirt off his mucus membranes and avoid infection, but the truth was that the flecks of earth and nips of roots made him feel close to the ground, a part of the world he loved.

As he neared the moment of ecstasy, he'd grope around for something, anything else nearby to enhance the sensation. His hand might find any number of things – dried rose petals, root of elderberry bush, crushed pine needles and he'd pull it to his chest, clutching it to his hard nipples or pushing it against his sweaty pits, lolling his tongue out and squeezing his eyes shut as he took in their earthy textures, their irresistible tactile beauty. And he'd pleasure himself, shooting his seed into a pestle or collecting it up in a glass vial.

The citizens of keep and the members of the royal court found Nathaniel to be by far the strangest among them. But, in the end, his oddity was what made him so powerful. For he was, indeed, the best herbalist in all the land.

It is said that the juices of those who love plants is the final ingredient that can coax out the many hidden powers of the earth.


End file.
